


The Space Between

by cadkitten



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Injustice (Comics)
Genre: Cumming Through Clothing, Damian Wayne is Nightwing, Dick Grayson is Deadman, DickDamiWeek, Frottage, M/M, Magic, Possession, Supernatural Elements, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-10 19:49:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7858810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadkitten/pseuds/cadkitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hey... don't you ever forget how much I care about you, okay?" When Damian said nothing, Dick reached up, pressing his palms to his cheeks, looking right into his eyes, breathing out, "Promise me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Space Between

**Author's Note:**

> Threesome tag is *sorta* does it count if you're possessing someone and making whoopie with someone else? Maybe? Kinda sorta? Ha!  
> For DickDamiWeek over on tumblr. Day 2: Flexibility + smut prompt of Clothes Stay On  
> Beta Readers: kate1zena  
> Song[s]: "Explosions In A Four Chambered Heart" by Moon Ate The Dark

Nothing had ever felt lonelier than the space between the moments that Dick found his way into the peculiar, magical places where people could actually see him. When he had been in the Tower of Fate months before, he'd been so grateful everyone could interact with him, could talk to him as if he really existed again. It was the rest of the time that left him feeling empty.... alone. It was something that drove him to the bitter brinks of sanity in the spaces in between. He felt at least fortunate that he'd found that anywhere with sufficient latent magical properties could hold him in a corporeal form for a substantial period of time. The only problem was most of those involved the same people, time and again, none of whom really cared to spend a decent period of time talking to him - or really even caring he was there.

To most, he was simply background noise to the other beings who could push themselves just barely into the same realm; those who seemed content attempting to inflict their broken psyches upon whoever was closest to them, screaming and banging around in ways that would have stood the hairs on his arms up on end if he'd been able to feel such things any longer.

Even through all of that, there was still _one_ man who cared enough to at least offer him a decent conversation: John Constantine. He could still remember their meeting before he'd died, sometime in the far distant past, the memories taking on a stark differing hue from anything he'd experienced as Deadman. It was always so easy to tell which one was which, to decipher someone he knew in passing from someone he'd known in a past life. It was only when those lines blurred that things took on another sort of aspect. Constantine was one of those instances. 

Dick found himself trailing after him, hoping time and again to find the man visiting somewhere he could at least talk to him, found himself loathe to inhabit someone without their express consent unless it was genuinely an emergency. He knew well enough that it was the existence of being Deadman, to be like this, but that didn't mean he had to enjoy it or that he had to do it more often than was necessary.

As time trudged onward, he understood more and more the mindset Boston Brand had had, the way he'd become more and more listless over the years, more disassociated with the truth of reality, and he wasn't even a year into his stint. Who knew how long it would be before he, too, passed on the mantle, before he lost himself in the tides of the world in one manner or another. A day, a week, a month, perhaps a decade or more. Not that it truly mattered, the dragging of time weighing heavily no matter the length of it. 

Months were met with the changing of seasons and Dick found himself alternating between three people that he watched, nearly incessantly: Constantine, Damian, and Bruce. During the winter, he found it easiest to watch Constantine, to trail behind him as he made his way through every pub in London, to walk beside him as he tread the thin lines of the boundaries between one realm and another. His presence was, simply put, a comfort in the wake of what he could only see as an ever-growing tragedy brewing in what he'd once deemed his world. 

Days bled into weeks and weeks into nearly Christmas before Dick found Constantine staring at him in a way he knew - though had not seen nearly enough. The smile on his lips was instantly unstoppable as he pulled himself up to perch on a desk, glad for the feeling of something beneath him for once, of his weight having substance in this precious moment. "Long time no see."

"Shouldn't it be me telling you that?" Constantine tugged a pack of cigarettes free of his coat, tapping one out and placing it between his lips. The space of a few seconds found the cigarette lit and Dick at a loss as to the _how_ of it, understanding magic had to have been involved, but not having seen anything to attribute to what was merely a guess. 

"Maybe." Dick ducked his head and then peered up at him. "If you'd visit more places we could see one another, then maybe it wouldn't be so long." He meant it to come across as nonchalant, though it was really anything but. 

Constantine shifted his stance, crossing his arms over his chest, cigarette smoldering in one hand. "It's difficult when you're basically on the run. People _look_ for you in places like this, understand?"

"Yeah... I get it."

"You're lonely. I can see that. It can't be the easiest position in the world, seeing everything and no one seeing you at all." The way he said it left Dick with the vague feeling that he wasn't alone in this knowledge, that perhaps Boston had spoken with Constantine upon occasion and, perhaps, admitted some of the weaknesses of this position. 

Pulling one leg up, sliding it beneath the other, Dick simply closed his eyes and allowed himself to _feel_ the other in the room with him. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't."

There was a sense of hesitation and then, carefully, "Let's visit your family. Consider it a Christmas present."

Dick was up in a second, his chest squeezing tight at the thought of being able to talk to them all again. "You'd do that for me?"

Constantine gave a single nod before he turned to head for the door. "If you want to see the brat, I know where he is. Take me over once we're outside and I can get us there."

Dick followed, stepping outside and then taking a steadying breath before he allowed himself to be drawn in by Constantine's very essence, taken into his being and incorporated as a piece of him. Once he was settled, the moment he had control of his body, he shifted his thoughts in order to speak with him. " _I am here, guide us to Damian._ "

He could feel Constantine's laugh more than anything else and it was only a few seconds before blue light engulfed them and then spit them back out in another place, a completely different country by the looks of it. Dick got his bearings and then allowed John the control of his feet. " _On you, take us._ "

Three blocks led them to a small gym, most of the lights off except the very back room, the one with the tumbling mats and a variety of bars that would have had Dick's heart racing in seconds if he'd still had his own body. As it was, he could feel the quickening of Constantine's heartbeat as he eased himself against the doorjamb, arms crossed, and his stance intentionally very at ease. He watched Damian pull himself up with one arm on one of the bars and kept watching as he tumbled across the floor, doing a variety of flips that Dick was obscenely proud of. " _He's good_ ," he offered up toward Constantine.

" _He is. As good as all the stories I heard about you being once upon a time. He's done your name well in that regard, even if he's tarnished it in others._ "

" _Cut him some slack... he's lost as much as the rest of us._ "

" _This from the man that he killed. You're really a pushover sometimes, Grayson._ "

Damian landed a perfect handspring and then slid down into the splits, walking his hands forward as he slid down into the stretch, settling with his nose damn near against the floor. His heart hammered harder and he could have sworn he felt the beginning tingle of something he'd been fending off for a good few years now, something he was unwilling to address completely given his relation to Damian. However, it seemed that Constantine had no such qualms. " _If you think I can't feel what you're doing to my body watching him, you're wrong. Has it always been like this or-?_ "

" _Or. Trust me, this is a newer development._ "

" _But not so new that you don't already know about it._ " The sensation of laughter within him surged again and Dick finally pushed himself away from the wall. "Damian."

Damian's body tensed and a second later, he was on his feet, turned toward him. "Constantine." It was damn near a snarl.

Dick frowned, shaking his head. "Guess again... he let me borrow him to come see you. I just... I wanted to-"

Dick watched Damian's face crumple, watched the way his eyes swam with sadness and then disbelief. "I do not believe you."

"You wouldn't." Dick pushed his hands into his pockets, shrugging slightly. "Wouldn't expect you to."

"Tell me something only he knows."

Dick hesitated, grasping at everything he knew and then dredging up the stark memory of writing the note he'd attached to the Nightwing suit he'd sent him less than a year prior. "A note, on the blue box I sent the suit in. It said what are you waiting for, an invitation? Happy birthday." 

Dick watched the way Damian instantly swallowed, the bob of his throat and the faintest of tremors in his hands before he choked out the _last_ thing Dick had expected to hear from him. "I'm sorry. I... have never forgiven myself for what I did."

Dick closed the distance between them instantly, pulling Damian into his arms, feeling the tight pull of tears threatening him from somewhere deep inside. "I forgive you. It was an accident. You'd thrown that thing a hundred times at me and I _missed_ picking up on what you were doing. You weren't aiming for what happened. Trust me, I know that."

Damian clutched at him in a way that Dick honestly hadn't thought him capable of this side of ten years old, clung to him like he wanted to crawl right up inside Constantine's body just to be with him.

Sliding his hand up into Damian's hair, he gently pulled his head back, studying him, meeting his gaze head-on and letting the emotions well up inside of him for the first time in a very long time. 

" _I can feel what this is doing to you..._ " Constantine's voice heralded a gentle reminder that he was there, that this was _his_ body and not Dick's own. 

" _We should leave... though..._ "

" _You don't want to. I can hardly blame you. He's heartbroken over what he did to you. I wouldn't have believed it if I weren't seeing it with my own two eyes._ "

Dick's breathing picked up as Damian stared up at him, his lips wet from where he'd just licked them, his eyes shimmering with emotions Dick hadn't thought he'd ever seen displayed so starkly on Damian's features. " _I want things I shouldn't ever want with him. I want to comfort him... to give him what-_ "

"Dick," Damian's voice cut in, his hand coming up to slide over his shoulder, hooking around the back of his neck. And then Damian's mouth was there, warm wet heat against his own.

Dick couldn't have stopped himself if he'd actually intended to. He tugged Damian flush against him, guided them the necessary steps back to the bench Damian had left his towel draped over and all but collapsed on it, dragging Damian down with him. " _Forgive me, Constantine. This was never the idea._ "

There was a vaguely amused sound to Constantine's voice in his head when he spoke again. " _Nothing to forgive, I gave my body to you willingly for whatever you needed it for tonight. If this is what you need, then so be it._ "

The words left him gasping, left his hands sliding down until he hauled Damian up to straddle him, properly fitting them against one another as he sought to devour him, tongue pushing past his lips, into his mouth. 

Dick let go of every doubt, of every nagging thought, and he simply _acted_ for the first time in years. His hands wandered over Damian's body, urging him into a slow grind against him and then pushing into his hair, holding on as he explored his taste, his being, his very _essence_. 

When they finally parted, it was only for Damian to move so that his arousal was pushing alongside Dick's own, his body rocking eagerly against him. When he looked up, Dick found his lips nearly cherry red from the abuse of his own against them, his eyes alight with a fire he'd never seen in them before, and a determination in the way he held himself. His movements held more impact, every jerk of his hips intentional and built to drive them both closer to their ends. "Is _he_ here, as well?"

Dick didn't stop the huff of a laugh from bubbling up. "Yeah, that's how it works. No one shut out completely unless you're forcing it."

The faintest of pleased looks crossed Damian's face. "My first threesome."

" _Did he just make a damn joke?_ "

Dick threw back his head, gasping out a laugh as Damian moved quicker, jerked his hips harder against Constantine's body. "He did." The words came out in a rush.

"I did what?" Damian's hands fisted in Constantine's shirt, holding on tight as he stared right into his eyes. 

"Made a joke." Dick's hips surged up and he bit out a quiet, "Fuck, Damian..."

Damian leaned down, pressing his lips to Dick's ear. "Been too long, Grayson? Are you about to _cum_ for me? Mess up all of _his_ clothing and leave _his_ cum all over him and then just float away?"

Dick grabbed his ass hard, bracing himself and surging upward, rocking his hips as he threw his head back and just enjoyed the hell out of this fucked up little game they were playing at. He didn't bother with an answer, finding his actions were enough to cover the truth of it. It wasn't but a few more jerks of his hips before he was losing it, the feeling of his first orgasm in a long time slamming through him with an intensity he hadn't expected. Their hips rocked together and it was only how hard Damian was gripping him that brought him back in enough time to look down between them, watching Damian's cum spill across Constantine's hip, every pulse of it pushing out past the material of his suit, dribbling down onto Constantine's trousers. He could see his own wet patch, feel the warmth of his cum pooled around the head of his cock and he rolled his hips once more before he eased himself down, trembling. "Hey... don't you ever forget how much I care about you, okay?" When Damian said nothing, Dick reached up, pressing his palms to his cheeks, looking right into his eyes, breathing out, "Promise me."

Damian simply nodded and Dick could feel everything easing up inside. So long he'd lived with the pressing fear that Damian hadn't known how much he cared, hadn't understood that Dick had forgiven him... and he'd known it had driven him to some pretty terrible places. "I miss you." The words were quiet, though in the otherwise quiet room, they sounded louder, sounded like they held a certain finality, and when Damian pulled himself away, stood and turned away, using his towel to clean up some of his own mess, Dick knew it _was_ , in a way, finality. 

He whispered out a quiet, " _Thank you, Constantine,_ " and then he was leaving his body, drawing himself away from him. He cast one last look at Damian's back and then watched as Constantine sat up. "Hey, kid... he's gone. Probably not far, knowing him, but gone from me."

Dick watched the tenseness ease from Damian's shoulders, watched him play off an easy shrug, and then he was walking back out onto the floor, hefting a staff from one of the training bins. "Want a go?"

He watched the amused look on Constantine's face and he let them be, turning away and walking back through the building and out into what had become a snow storm. He smiled up toward the sky, his head tilted back as he wished he could have simply felt the ease of the snow landing on his face, catch a flake or so upon his tongue. Even with all of that, he was honestly happier than he'd been in a long time. Because, if nothing else, Damian knew the truth of it all now, and _that_ was worth a million other moments.


End file.
